


The Sky Might Open Up

by pensively



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Closeted Character, First Time, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Prostitution, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensively/pseuds/pensively
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as he could remember, Arthur Pendragon has been expected to lead a certain kind of life: to earn top marks in school, to follow his father’s footsteps in politics, to marry a woman of which his father approves and present a particular image to the world. Arthur has always felt the weight of that duty acutely, which is why he has ruthlessly repressed his sexuality. It was a complication to the master plan he knows his father would never accept.</p><p>Arthur has never really allowed himself to act on his long-held, deeply-felt desires, but when a chance meeting with an old friend leads him to Merlin, a discreet, high-class escort, Arthur decides that — for once in his life — he is going to throw caution to the wind and experience what he’s been missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Might Open Up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Merlin Sexstars. 
> 
> The prompt I claimed was:
> 
> _Victorian-rentboy!Merlin  
>  Merlin works in an upscale, exclusively members-only brothel. Wealthy Arthur is a new member, married and painfully repressed but desperate to explore his lifelong urge to lie with a man. Gwaine owns/operates the brothel._
> 
> I really liked it. A lot. So much, in fact, that when I began plotting it quickly became something I knew I wouldn’t be able to finish in the time allotted. Thankfully [Nightfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox) was OK with me doing a sort of “modern remix” of the prompt. 
> 
> Thank you to [Nightfox](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfox/pseuds/Nightfox) beta’ing the hell out of this thing, helping me develop the idea in the first place (and letting me “remix” the prompt), and for offering so much support and kindness along the way. :)
> 
> Thank you to [RocknVaughn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn) for pre-reading, cheerleading, offering ideas when I got stuck, writing sprints with me when it was down to the wire, the lovely summary, and for your encouragement and wonderful support. :)
> 
> Finally, thank you to everyone who answered questions, offered opinions and/or had a kind word (or more) when I was feeling discouraged. :)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** Everything I know about the political system in the UK, I learned from Wikipedia. Please accept my apology for any inaccuracies you may find despite my efforts to avoid them.

When he considered it objectively, Arthur had to admit that Elena was lovely. Her blue gown was flattering, her golden hair perfectly coiffed, and she effortlessly charmed the other guests as easily as breathing. One would never know that she felt more at home in a saddle than in society.

But when Arthur looked at her, he felt nothing.

Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. He felt _something._ It wasn't love, or lust, or even attraction. At best, it was a sort of generic fondness one might feel for someone who was familiar and not terribly objectionable.

It was not at all how he supposed most men felt for their fiancées.

The ballroom at the Savoy was stunning, a wonderland of white flowers, fine silver and twinkling fairy lights, but Arthur couldn't appreciate it. All he could focus on was the obscenely large emerald-cut diamond on Elena's finger and the suffocating feeling of walls closing in on him inexorably and inescapably.

His gaze turned toward the crowd, the murmuring sea of moneyed elite comprised of men in bespoke tuxedos and women in couture gowns. He knew -- or thought he knew -- what they saw when they looked at him: Arthur Pendragon, son of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and an up-and-coming MP himself. He'd taken Battersea for the Conservative Party, and given that Battersea was considered a bellwether constituency, that meant something. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, it was rumored that Uther had aims of seeing his son in the Prime Minister's seat one day.

They were right, of course — Arthur could see his future spread before him, mapped out in meticulous detail by his father. He had always gone along without complaint; He’d read PPE at Oxford instead of Classics at Cambridge, and had taken a position at a conservative think tank instead of continuing in academia as he’d always secretly wished to do. When Uther had instructed him to stand for Parliament in Battersea, he'd done so and won. Losing had not been an option.

And today, when his father had called him into his office and commanded him to propose to Miss Gawant this evening so that their engagement could be announced immediately…

It hadn’t been without question, but ultimately that hadn’t mattered. He’d still found himself slumped in the backseat of his Bentley, staring out the window in defeat as Leon drove him to Graff a mere two hours before he was to pick Elena up to attend the Miriam Trust for the Arts Winter Charity Ball at the Savoy. Uther's assistant had called ahead -- _of course he had_ \-- and an array of suitable rings had awaited his final choice.

It was the only choice he had in the matter at all.

Beside him, Elena was chattering gaily with a diamond-bedecked woman whose pencil-thin eyebrows were drawn on in high arcs that gave her the appearance of perpetual surprise. A light pressure on his arm drew his attention back to the conversation, and he forced a smile as he attempted to feign interest.

“You’ve made an excellent choice in this one, young man,” the woman gushed. “What a lovely couple you make!”

Inwardly, Arthur sighed.

“Thank you,” he said, still forcing a smile. “I’m a lucky man.”

“Oh, but you are! Why, I haven’t seen a better-suited pair of young people since Prince William married that charming Kate Middleton. It’s terribly plebeian, I know, but I have the commemorative china. I was afraid I mightn’t be able to get some from the original run, and I…”

Only years of discipline instilled by Uther Pendragon himself kept Arthur from rolling his eyes, and it was a near miss at that. Fortunately, Elena had been attending events with him long enough to know when he was close to his limit. With a smile that implied utter fascination, she gamely took up the topic of commemorative royal wedding china as she handed her empty champagne glass to Arthur with a lifted brow. Relieved, he took it from her and excused himself with a polite nod.

He circled the room, spotting a waiter in pristine livery making the rounds with a small round tray of champagne flutes balanced on his upturned hand. The man’s back was to Arthur, and although he was normally extremely cautious about that sort of thing, tonight he couldn't help letting his gaze drop to the server's sculpted arse. Flushing slightly, he jerked his eyes back up just in time for the waiter to turn and extend the tray toward him in one smooth motion.

"Champagne, sir?"

“Yes, thank you.” He placed the empty glass on the tray as he took a new one, and the waiter nodded politely at him before turning to another guest. The interaction took mere seconds, but the server’s olive-toned skin, coffee-colored eyes and softly curling dark hair all seemed somehow imprinted on his consciousness. It was so brief a moment that surely no one noticed… _surely_ …but Arthur was appalled at himself, at his lack of control.

He didn’t _think_ anyone had seen the direction of his gaze, but the heat in his cheeks would give him away if he didn’t get himself back in line. Spotting an open area near one of the large, arched windows, he began moving toward it. He was careful not to appear too purposeful in his movements while deftly avoiding eye-contact and narrowly escaping being drawn into more than one conversation. 

He’d nearly made it when a heavy hand clapped him familiarly on his shoulder, and a deep voice intoned, “Pendragon! Fancy running into you here!”

Arthur turned, unable to keep his eyes from widening with surprise when he saw Owain Davies standing in front of him. It had been over a decade since Arthur had last seen him, and yet Owain’s seventeen year old self seemed superimposed over his older, broader counterpart. 

For the briefest of moments, Arthur was transported back to an empty classroom at Eton, pinstriped trousers pooling around his ankles, waistcoat and dress shirt rucked up as he frotted against Owain’s bare stomach. His spit-slicked hand had pumped Owain’s cock in short, jerky motions, the other boy’s breath hot on his neck. They hadn’t kissed; it was a rule of theirs, that no matter what else they did their mouths never touched. It had been the first of several brief assignations over the course of the first half of his final year, each overshadowed by the fear of discovery and threaded with a sense of shame that Arthur had never quite managed to purge.

“Davies," Arthur said with a nod, steeling himself and steadfastly banishing the mental image of Owain's hand wrapped around his cock. He extended his hand to shake, quashing the immediate desire to observe the differences -- nails neatly trimmed and buffed instead of jagged and bitten, hand warm and dry with a firm grip rather than clammy with nerves. "I didn't take you for a patron of the arts?"

Owain laughed. "Got it in one, Pendragon. See the old bird over there, in the black?"

Arthur followed Owain's gaze to a woman who appeared to be in her late forties to early fifties wearing an understated black gown. Her blond hair was upswept and fastened with a jeweled clip, and she was all elegance as she sipped her champagne and chatted with the other guests. Arthur supposed she was attractive enough if you liked women of a certain age (or at all), and for a moment his inability to appreciate her beyond mere aesthetics triggered that old sense of self-disgust and failure.

Turning back to Owain with one eyebrow raised, he subtly shifted so that he was closer to the wall and waited for Owain to join him before speaking. "What about her?"

Owain looked around before answering, apparently satisfied that this was as close to a private conversation they would be able to have in the crowded ballroom.

"I've been seeing her for about six months now."

"Her? I wouldn't think she was your…type?"

"She's rich, which makes her _exactly_ my type."

The half-hope, half-fantasy that meeting up with Owain meant something, that maybe they could…discreetly, of course -- but no. Suppressing the rising tide of disappointment, Arthur resolutely dismissed the idea. 

"Unless you mean…my _type_?" Owain shifted slightly so that his back was to the room and only Arthur could see his expression, and the significant look in his blue eyes.

"No, not at all-" Arthur began.

"If you mean _that_ , then no…not really. But she likes having me escort her here and there, doesn't expect much in the way of sex, and she keeps me in the style to which I've become accustomed. It's not a bad way to live."

Arthur knew he had no room to judge Owain for this, not when somewhere in the crowd Elena was wearing a ring he'd offered her just hours before, but something about what Owain was doing seemed so… _sleazy_ to him. Something of his feelings must have shown on his face, because Owain's expression hardened.

"Some of us haven't been as fortunate as you have, Pendragon. And your hands aren’t so clean, are they? Word of your engagement has already made the rounds. Does that pretty blonde of yours have any idea of what you get up to?"

Arthur's lack of response was telling, and a look of incredulity dawned on Owain's face. 

"Except you don't, do you? You’re just as repressed as you always were."

"You're one to talk, Davies. Does _she_ ," and with this, Arthur jerked his chin in Owain's date's direction, "know about you?"

Owain colored. "It's a matter of survival-"

"As it is for me," Arthur said flatly.

All the fight went out of Owain, and Arthur suspected he was remembering the one and only time he met Uther Pendragon, when Arthur had been foolish enough to invite Owain to the Pendragon estate at half-term. They hadn't been discovered -- Arthur wasn't _that_ foolish, and he wasn't sure he would still be here if they had been -- but Uther's penetrating gaze had been laser-focused on Owain the entire visit. After they’d gone back to Eton they'd never picked up their odd semi-relationship again. 

"So perhaps 'survival' is a strong term for me. I could work if I had a mind to, I suppose. But Arthur," Owain said earnestly, leaning closer, " even though I've chosen money over love... if you want to call it that, I don't deny myself, not completely. You have to have some…outlet."

"An outlet? You know I can't-"

"You can." Owain reached into his inside right breast pocket and extracted a slim wallet, then plucked a plain white card from the lining. He extended it toward Arthur and looked at him expectantly.

Arthur took the card and examined it front and back. It was plain white cardstock with black text listing a phone number and the name "Gwaine". 

"Gwaine?"

"Not his real name, or so I assume. We've never discussed it. He runs an extremely discreet service that I think might be relevant to your interests. It's all a bit cloak-and-dagger but he guarantees absolute anonymity and privacy."

"A service…you don't mean?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

"I don't-"

"Look, if we stay over here much longer people will take notice. If you don't want it, shred or burn the card and forget about it…but you should at least think about it." With that, Owain clapped him on the shoulder and walked away without a backward look.

Arthur stared dumbly after Owain for a second, perhaps more, wondering if what he _thought_ just happened actually _had_ , and then almost mechanically slipped the card into his inner breast pocket. He had a shredder at home, and he could simply dispose of it securely there.

***

The queue of cars attempting to exit the car park at the Savoy hadn't moved for at least ten minutes and showed no signs of doing so anytime soon. Elena leaned against the window on her side of the car, her head angled so that her forehead pressed gently against the cool glass. Her soft exhalations created tiny circles of fog that she tapped absently with the index finger of her left hand, and with each movement the diamond winked in the light pouring in from the nearby lamppost.

Arthur looked over at her, words on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't seem to get them out...not with Leon sitting up front. He knew Leon was discreet; he had been Arthur's driver and bodyguard since uni and truthfully he was probably the only person Arthur fully trusted. However, the conversation he needed to have with Elena was very personal, and he knew she didn't necessarily share his level of comfort in speaking in front of his driver.

With the perceptiveness that had helped Arthur avoid more than one scrape over the years, Leon cleared his throat and muttered something about having a smoke, barely waiting for Arthur's nod of acknowledgement before exiting the car.

If Elena noticed Leon's departure she didn't show it, and Arthur was struck by how much this quiet version of her differed from the social butterfly she'd been all evening. Despite having been thrown together by their fathers for years, he didn't think he knew the real Elena, the one with the dreamy smile who always seemed content in her own little world of introspection, her internal focus disrupted only when required by social convention. She only ever looked truly happy when in the company of her horses. Watching her like that, seemingly lit from within by sheer joy, Arthur would find himself genuinely wishing he _could_ be attracted to her.

"Why did you say yes?" He asked quietly.

Elena started for a moment, then settled with her left hand in her lap, idly twisting the ring on her finger.

"It was expected. My father, your father…everyone, really. And it's not as if I could..."

"Not as if you could what?" He prompted. 

The silence grew thicker, until it was almost too tense to bear. She turned, and he was surprised to find her regarding him so intently.

"Arthur, we both know what this is. At least we get along. It could be so much worse. We'll put on a good face in public and give each other space in private. And when the time comes…I know a doctor who will be discreet."

"Discreet?"

"Well it's not as if we'll-"

Anything further Elena might've said was cut off by the door opening. Leon folded his long body into the driver's seat, the acrid scent of smoke clinging to his jacket. His return did nothing to defuse the stiff, uncomfortable atmosphere in the car, and Arthur noticed that Leon's posture seemed rigid, as if in response to the tension. 

The car rolled forward slowly, and Arthur was left to contemplate what Elena had meant.

***

Arthur was absorbed in perusing his email on his mobile when they pulled up in front of Elena's townhouse in Mayfair. He quickly pocketed it and slipped out of the car as soon as they came to a stop, moving to open Elena's door and offer his arm to walk her to her door. The distance was short, but perhaps they would have an opportunity to finish their earlier conversation. If what they’d discussed before was any indication, at least he didn’t have to worry about her inviting him in with any… _expectations_.

She seemed unconcerned by his actions and wordlessly slipped her arm through his as they walked the short distance to her front door. The lights were on, and just as she placed her key in the lock the door flew open, revealing Elena's PA, Mithian, wearing yoga pants and a thin white camisole.

"Working late, Mithian?" He asked.

"Something like that," she muttered, and cut her eyes at Arthur in a way that didn’t seem entirely friendly.

"The Wildlife Trust event," Elena said, sounding slightly rattled. "There was a problem with the-"

"Place cards," Mithian supplied quickly.

"Yes, the place cards. Very urgent. So if you'll excuse me?"

Elena fixed him with an oddly intense stare, and he felt as if there was something unspoken in those blue eyes, something that she was willing him to pick up from her look alone, because she would never, ever _say_ it. 

_So that’s how it is._

Something akin to relief flooded through him. For the first time since his father had said “I’ve had quite enough. This time I’m not asking, I’m telling,” that afternoon, he almost felt...not happy, not precisely, but as if perhaps this wouldn’t be a complete disaster after all. 

“Well, far be it from me to delay you when place cards are in question,” he said, and his smile was genuine. “I’ll bid you goodnight, then. Elena, Mithian.” And with nothing more than a polite nod to each of them, he turned and walked back to the car feeling lighter than he had all evening.

***

Unlike the Pendragon family home with its dark, oppressive air, baroque furnishings and full-time staff, Arthur’s Battersea flat featured light wood, white walls and simple, contemporary decor. And most importantly, it was solely Arthur’s...at least as much as anything could be when one had Uther Pendragon for a father. While it wasn't strictly necessary that he live in the constituency he represented, Arthur felt strongly that he _should_ , and that had given him the opportunity to make his own living arrangements for the first time. He was still expected to make regular appearances at home, but this place had become a safe haven of sorts. Tonight he especially appreciated it as he walked through, methodically unfastening buttons and divesting himself of his tuxedo.

He draped his jacket over the back of a wing chair in the corner of his bedroom and stood in his shirtsleeves. He stared at the white card that had fallen out of the inner breast pocket and come to rest on the rug. Leaning over over to pick it up, he held it between his thumb and forefinger, studying the plain black text again. It was tempting, even more so now that things were clear with Elena.

That they apparently had an arrangement now was the last thing that he would have expected, and for a moment his relief was tempered with concern -- how had she known? He had been so careful never to betray his…inconvenient nature. _Did anyone else know?_

He shook his head. Elena was obviously more perceptive than he'd given her credit for being, and given that she evidently had her own secret to hide, perhaps she was just more attuned to it than someone else might be. It wasn't worth worrying over tonight, in any case. He resolved to ask her about it the next time they talked.

But this card…it represented an opportunity he hadn't known he had. Could Owain be trusted? He suspected the wealthy women Owain kept company with would be less willing to fund his lifestyle if they knew their money was going to something like _this_. That alone lent credence to Owain's claim that the service was legitimate and discreet. 

Almost before he realized what he was doing, his thumb was entering the passcode to his mobile seemingly of its own volition, and he swiped to the left, his finger hovering over the app that would allow him to block his number. He entered the number and pressed "call". The phone rang, and then --

"Gwaine speaking," answered a polished voice with just a trace of an accent that Arthur couldn't place.

It was nearly two AM, but Gwaine sounded calm, poised, and not at all as if Arthur had awoken him.

"Hello, yes, I…have I called too late?" Arthur asked, suddenly uncertain.

Gwaine laughed. "Not at all. Late calls are to be expected; consider it a perk."

"Right then. I was given your card this evening, and…" Arthur trailed off. _How did one solicit the services of a prostitute?_

"And…? Forgive me, but I'll need you to come out and say it. Just to avoid any misunderstandings, you see."

“Yes, of course,” Arthur said quickly, inwardly cursing his nerves as he struggled to maintain a normal tone. "I understand you offer a service that is known to be very discreet. A service that offers…companionship."

"Discreet, absolutely. And yes, I act as a facilitator for certain gentlemen with whom you might wish to become acquainted. We have procedures in place to maintain your privacy and anonymity, and also to keep this service from becoming public knowledge."

Arthur paced. It all sounded legitimate...did he really want to do this?

He cleared his throat. "All right…supposing that I'm interested…how does this all work?"

"We have a secure online portfolio where you can make your selection, but I'll need some security from you before I can give you access. If you don't have an anonymous email account, I'd recommend setting one up. The standard fee for one night is £5000, and you'd need to send twenty per cent of that to an address I'll provide. Once we confirm receipt of the deposit, you'll be given access, and you can decide with whom you'd like to request a booking."

"That’s £1000! You expect me to send that kind of money off into the ether without any sort of guarantee-"

"Yes," Gwaine interrupted smoothly, "we do. If you choose not to request a booking, the funds will of course be reversed. As much as I'm responsible for ensuring _your_ privacy, I also need to keep the details of the gentlemen I work with confidential as well."

"Fine, I'll concede you have a point. But how am I to know that you aren't going to simply pocket the money?"

"Truthfully," Gwaine said calmly, "you don't. There isn't anything I can tell you that will reassure you if you're that concerned. It's the price of anonymity. I will say that we receive all of our referrals from existing clients, and I suspect that if we bilked you it would get back to the person who gave you my card, who might then mention it to the person who referred _him_. Word would get out -- quietly, anyway -- and it would hurt the business. You can make of that what you will."

"All right, fine. I'll send the deposit. What else?"

"Once you find someone to your liking, you'll need to have a health screening. There's a particular doctor we use; he's completely discreet. You'll give him an alias, and he'll run some tests. When he’s done, he’ll destroy your file. It will be like you were never there."

"That seems a bit…excessive. Could I not just…pay a little extra to avoid it? I mean, that's what condoms are for?"

"Absolutely not," Gwaine replied flatly. "This is non-negotiable. Condom use is also required, but each of the gentlemen undergoes regular health screening as well. We require this of all clients. If you’re unwilling, we’ll just stop now."

This was not at all what Arthur had expected. 

He sighed. "Fine, if it's required for all clients…that's...fine. What else?"

"Assuming your health screen is clear, I'll coordinate with the man you’ve chosen on a date and time for you, and on the day of your appointment you'll be given an address to go to."

"And that's it? No more hoops to jump through?"

"That's it," Gwaine said, and Arthur thought he detected a hint of anger in his voice.

There was a long pause.

"Now, then," Gwaine continued, his tone smooth and professional. "What exactly are you looking for in this encounter?"

"That's none of your business. I'll discuss it with…him, whoever he is."

"I'm not a fucking receptionist," Gwaine snapped, obviously out of patience. "My job isn't to make appointments and arrange payment. I have a responsibility to ensure the safety and well-being of the gentlemen who trust me to facilitate for them. There are certain scenes that they won't do, and others that they have to approve in advance."

"Fine," Arthur replied flatly. "I want him to suck me off and fuck me, in that order. Does that meet with your approval?"

"You know, princess, just because you've called the number doesn't mean you have to do this. If it's so distasteful to you, you can trash that card and forget the number."

" _Princess_? Aren't you supposed to be a professional?"

"I am -- one who offers a unique service…a service which you are under no obligation to use if you find our policies so off-putting. You've balked at every requirement I've put forth...and I almost wonder if you even really want to do this?"

"Look, I'm sorry. I've…never done this before, all right? I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't all these…policies."

"You’ve hit the big time, mate. These aren't back alley rent boys selling blowjobs for drug money. The kind of men you can trust to be discreet, men who can command 5000 fucking quid a night; they’re men of quality, is what they are, and this is what it takes to maintain a service at this level."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. _Way to make a right mess of things, Pendragon._

"This is all new to me,” Arthur admitted reluctantly, “and obviously I've not handled it well. I _do_ want to proceed, but I'll need some time to arrange the details and…think about what I'm really looking for here. I'll tell you before anything is finalized, if that's acceptable?"

The truth was, Arthur wasn't exactly sure what he wanted out of this encounter. The thought of finally being able to act on what he had desired for so long was a heady feeling, and he knew he wanted to make the most of it. Despite the promises of discretion, he didn't know if he could bring himself to take this kind of risk again in the future...assuming he even went through with it this time. 

Lost in thought, he almost didn't register the email address Gwaine provided, and he barely managed to jot it down on the back of the business card before ringing off. He was left staring at the mobile in his hand wondering what had possessed him.

***

When Arthur, at the age of twenty-one, had received access to the trust set aside for him in his mother’s will, he’d promptly gone to the family solicitor and had a portion of the funds discreetly moved to a Swiss bank account. Although Gaius handled all of the Pendragon family accounts, he was known for his ethics, and Arthur felt sure he wouldn't share Arthur's actions with Uther. He hadn't, and Arthur had kept this money secret and safe for years. The initial impetus had been to give himself something to fall back on should his father ever learn of his…nature. He had also fantasized -- for a brief time in uni -- about defying Uther and striking out on his own, but somehow it had never been the right time. Now he was so entrenched in the life his father had planned for him that he could really see no escape from it.

He had never used any of the hidden funds, so the money had just been sitting there quietly accruing interest ever since. It was enough to cover as many nights with one of Gwaine's gentlemen as he might wish...within reason. Although this was not the purpose to which he had expected to put it, he found himself glad it was there as he sat on the sofa in his Battersea flat with his personal tablet on his lap and an online payment site open in his browser. It had taken three days for him to investigate all of the options and create an anonymous email account that he felt safe using. Then he’d had to establish an account with the payment service and transfer the funds there. Now there were no more steps to take beyond pressing “send”. 

_Am I really doing this?_

Without further hesitation, he tapped the screen and locked the device as soon as the confirmation appeared. Placing the tablet beside him on the sofa, he leaned back with his eyes half-closed. The room was dark and slightly cool, but he was comfortable in his jogging bottoms and long-sleeved tee. He wondered how long it would take to receive access to the portfolio Gwaine had mentioned and what he would find when he finally viewed it. With fees this high, presumably the men would be attractive -- Gwaine had called them "men of quality", after all, and no one would pay that much to fuck an ugly man -- but would any of them be to his taste?

He chuckled bitterly. It was laughable to be concerned about his taste, he mused. He had spent so many years hating himself for what he wanted that he’d barely permitted himself to contemplate what it it might be like to give in and experience it. How could he possibly have a preference? He looked at porn sometimes -- _what man didn’t?_ \-- but although he had taken every precaution to keep his online activities secret, there was the ever-present fear of his father finding out what he got up to, even in the privacy of his own home. His assistant had a key to his flat...ostensibly in case he ever needed to take care of something for Arthur, but while George was as obsequious and devoted to his job as anyone might wish, there was something about him that Arthur just didn’t trust. 

A beep from his tablet startled him from his thoughts, and he was surprised to see a new email notification from the anonymous account he’d not yet logged out of. In the body of the email was a link, and below it a username and password. 

A thrill of excitement ran through him as he quickly clicked the link and entered his login details. The site that appeared featured a clean, minimalist design that was obviously professionally done. There were several profiles, each represented by a thumbnail picture. As Arthur began browsing them he began to understand why Gwaine had been so adamant about having some form of security before giving access because they were very… comprehensive. It would never even have occurred to Arthur to ask for some of this information; diet and exercise habits, educational background, other skills…all of this in addition to the physical characteristics. And the photos, a mix of black and white and color, all high quality…some clothed, and some tasteful nudes. None of the pictures -- the clothed ones, anyway -- would have been out of place in a high-end magazine.

The men _were_ attractive. Percival, Geraint, Gareth, Pellinor, Ewan, Lucan, Lamorak…he supposed any of them would do…but none of them really excited him.

And then he saw Merlin. 

The photo was in color, and Merlin wore a tuxedo with the shirt collar popped and the top buttons undone. The faintest hint of dark chest-hair against pale skin was framed by the snowy-white fabric of the dress shirt. He had the barest shadow of dark scruff along his jaw and around his mouth, framing gorgeous, bite-able lips. His gaze was direct and intense; his eyes were deep blue and seemed to stare right into Arthur's soul. 

Arthur knew with sudden clarity that Merlin was _the one_.

He flicked his fingers, scrolling away from the gallery to Merlin's details, skimming through them, already anticipating looking through the rest of the photos and watching the video below. Merlin was apparently a strict vegetarian, enjoyed swimming and parkour in addition to following a standard exercise regimen, and was also an accomplished painter if his degrees from Camberwell and the Royal College of Art were to be believed.

He seemed almost too good to be true.

Dismissing the profile for now, Arthur flicked through the rest of the photo gallery. There were more color photos from the same shoot as the first, others in black and white, all model-quality and perfect. The last seemed more candid, showing Merlin dressed casually in a tee shirt, his coffee-colored locks tousled and a little longish, sideburns accentuating his sharp cheekbones. He wore a wide, beautiful smile, and his eyes crinkled a little at the corners. It was even more arresting than the slightly more polished photos that preceded it, and Arthur supposed it was because he looked so _real_. He looked like a man Arthur might meet as his local, someone he could share a drink and conversation with. He could see himself running a hand down Merlin’s arm and leaning in close to breathe in his scent — somehow Arthur imagined that he smelt amazing — before murmuring into his ear, “Come back to mine?”

The thought was appealing. _Perhaps too appealing_ , he thought ruefully. He could pretend that this fantasy of pulling Merlin in a pub was just about sex, but there was something about his smile that made Arthur want to know him...and that was dangerous. This wasn't about feelings. It was business, nothing more.

Merlin’s video was embedded below the photos, and Arthur tapped it with his thumb, anticipation building in his chest. 

Merlin reclined on a leather chaise that Arthur recognized from the nude photos, his lean body arranged in a way that seemed both artless and incredibly tempting. His pale skin was almost luminous against the black leather, his eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as one long-fingered hand fisted his cock in a smooth, rhythmic motion. His grip was tight, and he twisted his hand slightly with every upward pull, cupping the head and catching the precome leaking from the slit in his palm before smearing it down his length on the downstroke. 

One of Merlin’s knees was bent, his foot resting flat on the cushion, and his other leg lay canted to the side, leaving his balls and the tight pink furl in his cleft exposed. Merlin wet the index and middle fingers of his free hand in his mouth, looking into the camera almost teasingly as he pulled them free of his bowed lips with a wet pop. His hand drifted languidly down his body, past the trail of dark hair that led to his groin, past the hand wrapped around his cock, still pulling steadily, down to teasingly circle his hole before the tip of one finger disappeared inside. He worked it in slowly, the tendons in his wrist flexing with each movement. Merlin added the second finger, increasing the pace until he was fucking himself in time with each stroke of his cock. His eyes slipped closed as his head fell back, and he bit his lower lip with perfect white teeth, breath hitching. Merlin’s hips rocked forward slightly and his hands began to move faster. Arthur was fascinated by Merlin’s slim, lightly-muscled thighs and they way they seemed to tense and quiver as though the pleasure was almost too much to bear.

When Merlin came, spurting ropes of come onto his flat stomach as he stared into the camera, eyes glazed with bliss, Arthur felt an answering pulse in his groin. He pushed the tablet abruptly aside and thrust his hand beneath the waistband of his jogging bottoms to roughly fist his cock, uncaring that it was too dry. A half dozen hard tugs and he was spilling into his hand, panting and shaking with the intensity of his orgasm. He sprawled on the sofa, his softening cock almost burning from the rough strokes. He wiped his hand on the fabric of his jogging bottoms, trying and failing to regulate his breathing. Arthur had _never_ reacted so strongly to porn before. As pornographic videos went, it was really rather tame, but everything about Merlin had been so completely and utterly arousing. Arthur knew he _had_ to have him, that he would do whatever Gwaine said, pay any price, fulfil any requirement...just to have Merlin.

He sat up with a groan, feeling raw and exposed. He retrieved his tablet, tapped out a quick reply to the email, powered it down, and then walked slowly to his desk to lock it inside. At least he was the only one to have _this_ key.

If laptops could glare accusingly at their owners in silent remonstration for the work they weren’t doing, Arthur’s certainly would have. On any other night he’d have seated himself at his desk and gotten to work despite not feeling up to it, but tonight he was wrung out and didn’t have the concentration or patience to accomplish even the simplest of tasks. Leaving the laptop on his desk without another look, he made his way to the bedroom, tugging off his clothes and dropping them on the floor in an untidy heap. He slid between the cool, silky-smooth sheets with their clean, comforting scent of washing powder. With a sigh of relief, he buried his face in his pillow and was asleep within minutes.

Arthur had no concept of time -- one moment he was asleep, and the next he was awake, sitting up in bed with his chest sheened with sweat. Through bleary eyes he saw the red digits on his alarm clock proclaim that it was 3:07 AM. He fisted his hands in the tangled mess he’d made of the sheets as if by doing so, he could grasp the remnants of the dream from which he had awoken so abruptly.

Sable hair, deep blue eyes and moon-pale skin haunted him, and it was as if he could almost feel Merlin’s hands running over his body. More than anything, it was the sense memory of being taken, _of being filled_ , that suffused him with equal parts desire and shame. He was seized with a sudden, aching emptiness, a yearning for something he had always wanted and never admitted, even to himself. 

Where the dream faded into his subconscious, his imagination took over. He envisioned the weight of Merlin’s body against his, his lean limbs tangled with Arthur’s heavier ones, the sparse hair on his thighs brushing against Arthur’s, and his cock, slick, rosy-hued and thick as it rutted against his leg in a promise of things to come. 

Arthur licked and sucked the middle finger of his right hand in an unconscious imitation of what Merlin had done in the video, and he spread his legs, his wet finger just brushing his hole. He had done this before once, maybe twice, and the sensation of being breached was as strange as it had ever been. Yet it also felt right in a way that Arthur wasn’t sure he was ready to examine. He moved slowly, until his knuckle nudged his rim and waited a beat before sliding his finger out then back in again. He brushed his free hand against his half-hard cock, which was still a bit sensitive from his furious wanking but not sore. It thickened against his palm, and the feeling of his finger slowly sliding in and out of his hole as his hot palm skimmed along his length brought him to full tumescence almost immediately. 

Despite his excitement, Arthur found himself reluctant to wank dry again and he shifted until he could reach the bedside table and the small bottle of lube stored there. He had been apprehensive to keep such a thing where anyone could find it, but considering that his only sex life was with his hand...the desire to at least have something other than spit to ease the way had finally won out. 

The liquid was silky and cool, easing the slide of his finger past his rim. It was smoother this time, the intrusion not so…disconcerting. His other hand closed around his cock, pulling slowly and steadily. A wave of self-consciousness came over him as he thought about how he must look, legs akimbo as he simultaneously fingered himself and tugged on his cock. He resolutely pushed the feeling away, concentrating on bringing the motion of his hands into sync. His world narrowed to the sensations of his cock sliding through his tight fist and the hot rush of pleasure he felt every time the sensitive head broke through his grip as he thrust up into his hand. The penetration that had felt so awkward and strange at first was now so very, very right.

Arthur’s breaths were harsh and short. He arched and flexed against the mattress, heat building at the base of his spine and that tense, almost-there feeling overcame him as he felt the pleasure building within him. He came suddenly, a loud groan torn from his throat as he rolled onto his side, come pooling on the sheet. He didn’t know how long he lay there, trembling from the powerful release. He might’ve drifted back to sleep briefly, but the sound of the heating coming on woke him from his doze and he rolled out of bed, walking to the bathroom on unsteady feet. He took the time to wash up, clean his teeth, and put on a pair of pyjama pants before snagging a towel to clean the mess he’d made on the bed, then opted to just pull the sticky fabric off the mattress and ball it up for the cleaning service to deal with. He pulled a spare duvet from the airing cupboard and draped it over the bare mattress, then covered himself with the remaining flat sheet and blanket. His head settled against his pillow once more, and he was left feeling tired, satiated, and ready to sleep and yet unable to do so. 

His mind seemed full of thoughts he was unable to dismiss. It was obvious that he took pleasure in having something…up _there_ , and though it had always felt awkward to him in the past, thinking about it in the context of having Merlin’s cock inside him was actually exciting him now. That he was attracted to men had been hard enough for him to accept — and if he was honest with himself, he had done so with extreme reluctance — but to admit that what he truly wanted, in his inner, secret heart was to place his trust in another man and be taken by him, consumed by him…it shook him to his core.

He fell into an uneasy, fitful sleep.

***

Three weeks later, Arthur had completed his required health screening with a surprisingly painless visit to Dr. Muirden’s office — an office which had seemed suspiciously well suited to clandestine business with its discreet side-entrance, tiny waiting room and studiously uninterested receptionist. Once that was done, there had been just one final, _awkward_ phone conversation to get through. Going into as little detail as possible, Arthur had reluctantly explained to Gwaine what it was he wanted from his upcoming… encounter and then he’d finally been allowed to confirm the date of his appointment with Merlin. Now, he found himself parked outside a posh mid-rise in Chelsea at half eight on a Friday night.

In the front seat, Leon was carefully neutral as Arthur directed him to stay close by and wait for a text when he was ready to be picked up. 

"I expect I'll be awhile, so go have some dinner while you wait." Arthur handed over several crisp notes, which Leon took without comment, although he hesitated briefly.

"What is it, Leon?"

"I'd feel better if you'd at least let me check the building. How am I supposed to see to your security if you won't let me accompany you? First that dodgy office in Camden the other week, and now this…" Leon turned in his seat and fixed Arthur with a stern look. "You know I don’t mean to pry into your business here, Arthur. I'm just trying to do my job."

Arthur looked down. Job or no, Leon was the closest thing to a real friend that Arthur had, and he knew the other man meant well.

"I'm just here to visit a friend, Leon. Security won't be an issue."

Leon just made a noncommittal noise, and pocketed the notes Arthur had given him. 

Arthur looked out the window and up at the building, the windows glowing in the night. Merlin was waiting for him somewhere behind one of those drawn shades, and Arthur couldn’t think of a time when he’d been more nervous. 

With a final, nearly inaudible sigh, he stepped out of the car and stood in front of the entrance watching as Leon drove away. When he could no longer see the tail lights, he turned and walked through the revolving door into a small, tastefully appointed lobby. It was quiet and still, and his oxford shoes tapped loudly against the marble floor as he walked toward the small mahogany desk where the night attendant waited, his silvered head bowed over a magazine.

“David Somerset to see Mr Pendleton,” Arthur said briskly.

The attendant looked up from his copy of **HELLO!** with a frown, and Arthur was struck by the seeming incongruity of the grizzled old man reading a gossip rag. His name tag read “K. Gharrah”, and Arthur searched for any hint of recognition in his eyes, finding them blank and disinterested. A clipboard for signing visitors in and out rested at his elbow, but Mr Gharrah made no move toward it. He pushed a keycard toward Arthur and jerked his chin in the direction of the lifts.

“5th floor. You’ll need the card to operate the lift.” His voice was gravelly, and Arthur had the feeling of being dismissed, which was confirmed as Mr Gharrah pointedly turned his attention back to his magazine.

As he walked toward the lifts and pressed the button to call one, Arthur idly wondered just how much Gwaine was paying the attendant to keep mum about the comings and goings to the flat belonging to “Mr Pendleton”.

The chime that signaled the arrival of a lift interrupted his thoughts, and he stepped inside, swiping the keycard through the reader and pressing the five. The doors closed and the lift began its slow ascent. Arthur glanced at his reflection in the mirrored walls, taking in the khaki trousers, pale blue shirt and navy blazer he’d selected. He’d foregone a tie and left the first two buttons undone; he knew he looked much more relaxed than he felt. He’d spent an hour in the bathroom showering and otherwise preparing for tonight. While he knew he shouldn’t be nervous -- Merlin was being well-compensated to spend time with him, after all -- he couldn’t help feeling apprehensive anyway. 

_It’s just business_ , he reminded himself, ignoring the inner voice that said it was far more than a mere transaction.

A muted ding sounded as the lift came to a smooth stop, and the doors opened noiselessly. The rug that covered the floor was plush; it muffled his steps as he strode down the hall to the door marked with the number eighteen in neat brass numerals. A small button embossed with a tiny bell was inset in the door frame. He took a deep breath, pressed it, and waited. 

It could have been but a moment -- had to have been, really -- but it might as well have been an eternity to Arthur before the door swung open and Merlin appeared in the doorway. The soft glow in the flat behind him was warmer than the cool light emitted by the contemporary fixtures in the hallway, and his lean form seemed limned in gold as he stood there with a small smile playing on his lips. 

“Mr Somerset, I presume?” 

There were so many things Arthur could have...should have said in answer to this, but the words died on his lips as he was confronted with his dreams made flesh. While the camera clearly loved Merlin, it was obvious that it could not truly do him justice. The dim light of the entryway brought his cheekbones into stark relief, made the blue of his eyes darker and more intense. Everything Arthur had found appealing about him in the pictures...and the video...was only magnified in person.

With a sharp nod Arthur stepped forward, and Merlin moved aside so that he could enter the flat. Arthur heard the door close behind him. Unsurprisingly, the flat was tastefully decorated, with furnishings in a simple, contemporary style. Merlin came up behind him and brushed past ever so slightly, coming to lean against the wall of the foyer. He wore a slim-fit white broadcloth shirt, the cuffs turned up and rolled neatly to mid-forearm, and perfectly tailored charcoal trousers that emphasized the length of his legs and his spare build without making him appear awkward or gangly. 

The top three buttons of his shirt were open, revealing the hollow of his throat and a dusting of dark chest hair. His hair was tousled in soft, loose curls -- a bit on the longer side -- just as it had been in the photo Arthur had liked so much. 

“Can I fix you a drink?” Merlin asked.

“Scotch, if you have it?” Arthur said, relieved to have something _normal_ to do.

Merlin pushed away from the wall and walked to the bar in the corner of the living area. He ran his finger over the bottles there, and looked up with a smile. 

“18-year Macallan all right?”

Arthur blinked. “Yes, more than. That’s...not cheap?”

Merlin laughed. “Only the best for you...” and he paused. “What would you prefer I call you?”

Arthur knew he should stick with the alias he’d been provided. It was safer that way, despite the promises of complete discretion. But he didn’t want to be called “David”, not tonight, not ever, and certainly not by Merlin. 

He smiled for the first time since entering the flat, feeling himself relax just slightly. 

“Arthur. Call me Arthur.”

Merlin smiled, the same wide, gorgeous smile Arthur had fallen just a little bit in love with weeks ago, and while he knew he’d been reckless and impulsive he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

“How do you take your scotch, Arthur?” Merlin asked, and the timbre of his voice was low, somehow...intimate as he said Arthur’s name.

“Neat. You don’t need anything else with that.” 

“It is very fine,” Merlin agreed. For a moment there was no sound but the muted clink of glassware and the splash of liquid. Arthur noticed that Merlin added mineral water to one of the glasses, and then he was coming over, a tulip-shaped whisky glass in one hand, and a simple cut-glass tumbler in the other. “No need for a tasting glass when I’ve watered it,” he said with a smile. Merlin kept the tumbler for himself and handed the other glass to Arthur.

Arthur had acquired a taste for scotch because Uther considered it a proper, manly drink for a refined gentleman. He knew the whole routine for tasting it -- tilting the glass, warming it in his hands, nosing the whisky, sipping slowly and rolling it around in his mouth to capture all the flavours...honestly it all felt a bit pretentious to him. Merlin seemed to be waiting for him, perhaps to see if it was to his liking, and after a moment’s hesitation he took a drink bypassing all the formalities. 

“It’s very good,” he said, lamely. _Could I be any more awkward?_

“I’m glad you like it.”

Cradling the glass in his hands, Arthur found himself at a loss for words. Merlin was impossibly, stunningly gorgeous. The door to the bedroom was just across the living area; the knowledge that a bed was waiting for their use brought Arthur a sense of nervous anticipation. He knew he had been stiff and almost unbearably awkward since arriving, and Merlin obviously wanted him to be comfortable. Was he just supposed to start taking off his clothes? Should he touch Merlin, kiss him? _Could_ he kiss him, for that matter? His conversation with Gwaine had only covered the basics of what he wanted -- just enough to ensure he wasn’t requesting something Merlin wouldn’t do. They hadn’t actually discussed kissing, of all things. _Time to stop being such a big girl’s blouse._

He opened his mouth to speak. Merlin was a professional, surely he wouldn’t object to Arthur telling him that he wanted to get down to business. 

But to his horror, that wasn’t at all what came out of Arthur’s mouth. “What sort of name is _Merlin_ , anyway?”

Merlin seemed unfazed as he moved closer, taking a small, brief sip from his own glass before placing it on a nearby table. He was near enough that Arthur could pick up a subtle scent from him, something warm and spicy with just a hint of sweetness. It was intoxicating, and Arthur felt arousal coiling in his belly simply from Merlin’s closeness. 

“Arthur...we can discuss any number of things, including my name if you want...but that isn’t why you’re here, is it?” Merlin said quietly, his voice like a caress.

Merlin touched Arthur’s shoulder then, a gentle, barely-there brush of fingers against the fabric of his blazer. For all that the contact was fleeting, it felt significant. All he’d ever wanted was within his grasp, if Arthur could only reach out and take it. Hot desire burned through his veins, searing and all-consuming. When Arthur didn’t pull away, Merlin seemed encouraged…he slowly grasped the stem of the whisky glass and pried it from Arthur’s unresisting fingers, placing it on the table beside his own glass. Merlin’s palms came to rest on Arthur’s chest, his hands sliding outward, pushing at his blazer until it was slipping off his shoulders. He pulled it off and draped it neatly over the back of the sofa then stepped back into Arthur’s space as if he’d never left it, angling his head and leaning in, his mouth hovering a hairsbreadth from Arthur’s neck.

Arthur had denied himself for so long, the deprivation had become a part of him, like a wound that never healed, and with which he could only cope. Merlin’s warm breath against his throat, the heat of his body, his nearness -- they were a balm to this pain, soothing it as they stirred his desire. Arthur wondered if Merlin sensed this at all, if he noticed the way Arthur’s heart was pounding in his chest. He lifted his hands, hesitating only a second before placing one on Merlin’s hip, and the other on his shoulder mirroring the placement of Merlin’s own hands. Merlin seemed to take this as assent, and he closed the distance between his lips and Arthur’s skin, laying soft, open-mouthed kisses against his throat. Arthur’s hands tightened on Merlin, pulling him closer. The sensation of Merlin’s lips, warm and wet against his skin sent a thrill of anticipation surging through his veins. It made him imagine Merlin’s lips elsewhere… _everywhere_. He shuddered at the thought, intoxicating as it was, and barely suppressed a groan.

“You’re tense,” Merlin observed quietly. “Is there anything I can do to...relax you?”

Arthur’s cock twitched at the sound of Merlin’s mellifluous voice, so warm and intimate in his ear. A deep, fervent need surged through him, fierce in its extremity. Without waiting for an answer, Merlin dropped his hand from Arthur’s hip to brush against the front of Arthur’s trousers, rubbing the bulge there with the heel of his hand. The pressure of his slow, measured strokes combined with the wet, sucking kisses in the hollow of his throat brought Arthur to full hardness almost immediately. He ached for Merlin’s touch, burned for him with an intensity that might have been frightening had it not felt so incredibly right. 

“I think there might be…” Merlin murmured.

Arthur felt the loss of Merlin’s hand the moment he stopped rubbing, but the deft unbuttoning of his flies and the tug on his zip served as a distraction. His trousers were open, and he could feel warm fingers sliding under the waistband of his pants, pushing them down. A tremor ran through him; it had been so long since he’d felt anyone’s touch on his cock but his own that he feared he would disgrace himself. The hand on his shoulder moved down to his bicep, gripping it bracingly. He felt Merlin’s lips brush his ear as he spoke, 

“I know what you want, Arthur. And I want it too.” Merlin’s voice was low and rich, sex incarnate and sinfully promising.

“What do I want, _Merlin_?” Arthur gasped, nearly insane with need from just the sensation of Merlin’s fingers cupping the head of his cock.

“You want to let go. And I can help you do that, if you’ll let me.” Merlin’s voice seemed to imbue the words with shades of meaning Arthur hadn’t thought possible; he made it sound as if letting go was some kind of journey to a special place, a place only Merlin could take him. It was a place that Arthur wanted...no, _needed_ to go. Desperately.

Arthur tensed. _How can he read me so completely?_ And then suddenly it didn’t matter because Merlin was dropping smoothly to his knees.

The few fantasies he’d allowed himself -- _thoughts lead to action, after all_ \-- had nothing on this. Merlin on his knees before him...it was better than every erotic fantasy he’d ever had, vividly real and immediate. He felt breath ghost over his cock, then lips brushing it softly, teasingly, _maddeningly._ Arthur spared a moment to be grateful that he had asked if Merlin could suck him bare, since that apparently _did_ have to be agreed to in advance. Because right then, thought of anything between Merlin’s hot, wet mouth and Arthur’s cock seemed unbearable. Merlin pushed Arthur’s shirt tails up with one hand; Arthur took hold of the fabric, clenching it in his fist as Merlin’s mouth moved to the head of his cock, his tongue pressing into the slit briefly before slowly circling the crown. Arthur moaned deep in his throat; the caress of Merlin’s tongue was more than he’d ever thought to expect, had even known to want. It was suddenly imperative -- necessary, even -- that he make eye contact with Merlin, to seal this memory away in his mind permanently. He slid the fingers of his free hand into Merlin’s silky dark hair, pushing it back gently, ever-so-slightly with his palm against Merlin’s forehead, and let go as dark blue eyes met his.

Merlin sat back on his heels, his soft lips wet with saliva and Arthur’s pre-come. That Arthur knew how soft they were, that only a moment before they had been on his cock...it was nearly overwhelming and so, so good. He was here; Merlin was here, and he could have what he wanted. He was free, if only for this one night. _He could have it all_.

Something inside Arthur’s chest eased; the tension ebbed away, and suddenly it was _easy_.

“Show me the bedroom, Merlin.” Arthur said, his voice hoarse with lust.

The tip of Merlin’s tongue darted out to lick the pre-come from his lips playfully, and he smiled and said, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Merlin stood as smoothly as he’d knelt. He backed away slowly, his fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He’d slipped off his shoes at some point, and as he crossed the threshold to the bedroom the shirt came off, fluttering to the floor, forgotten as Merlin’s hands went to his belt. Merlin had worn no vest beneath his shirt, and the pale expanse of his chest, sparsely covered with dark hair trailing tantalizingly down into his waistband, was visible in the glow from the two bedside lamps - the only illumination in the room. Arthur rapidly unbuttoned his own shirt and tugged his vest over his head impatiently. By the time he’d gotten his shoes off and was working on his belt, Merlin was down to a pair of snug black briefs, his thumbs hooked in the waistband. Arthur wasted no time shoving his pants and trousers down, stepping out of them on his way to where Merlin waited -- now fully nude -- his cock hard and ready, the tip glistening with precome. 

Merlin watched him intently with an interested light in his eyes that Arthur wanted to believe… _had to believe_ was genuine. It certainly felt that way when Merlin’s fingers skimmed appreciatively over his chest and down his sides as soon as Arthur was close enough to touch. Long fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, knuckles bumping up against Arthur’s stomach as he trapped Merlin’s hand between their bodies by pulling him close. He could feel the wet tip of Merlin’s cock smearing his abdomen with pre-come as they moved together, Merlin’s milky, fine-grained skin beneath his fingers,and the smoothness of Merlin’s clean-shaven jaw against his lips as he trailed them along it, barely missing his mouth. 

Arthur was seized with an intense desire to kiss Merlin, to sample those tempting lips, to cradle the back of his head in the palm of his hand, to taste him as their tongues twined together. He brushed his lips against Merlin’s, a barely-there ghosting touch that left room for Merlin to pull back if he were so inclined. He didn’t, and Arthur pressed forward, bringing their mouths together revelling in the softness of Merlin’s lips against his own. Merlin hesitated for perhaps half a second, just long enough for Arthur to think _oh shit, I shouldn’t have done that_ , and then he was kissing Arthur back, his lips parting and yielding to Arthur’s tongue. 

Arthur had kissed before. He had even engaged in sex with women a few times (years ago) in an ill-considered attempt to force himself to be what he thought he must. Those awkward, fumbling encounters had left him feeling wrong and somehow...broken. Nothing had ever felt as sensual as the unhurried slide of Merlin's tongue against his, the feeling of his body in Arthur's arms, the way his form fit against Arthur's perfectly, and the gentle strokes of his hand on Arthur's cock in slow counterpoint to the thrust of his tongue. It was a revelation; it felt right in a way nothing ever had before.

Slowly breaking the kiss, Merlin pulled away, wrapping a hand around Arthur’s forearm. He gently tugged Arthur to the bed, silently urging him to lay his back against the turned down sheets. Merlin kicked the top sheet and duvet away with one foot before settling beside Arthur. Leaning over him, Merlin’s body was warm and solid against Arthur’s as he worked his way down Arthur’s chest, kissing, nipping and licking until his head was level with Arthur’s cock where he settled down between Arthur’s legs. 

Merlin licked slowly up the length of Arthur’s cock, letting the head rest against the flat of his tongue as he ran his thumb up the wet trail of saliva. Spreading it in small circular motions he pulled back to touch his tongue to Arthur’s cock in a series of brief, teasing licks that Arthur thought might drive him mad. His mouth drifted down, and gentle fingers nudged Arthur’s thighs apart. Merlin’s tongue lapped at his sac, his lips sucking gently, moving down until Arthur felt something warm and wet tracing the tender skin behind his balls. No one had ever done this to him before, and while some part of his brain knew that this was Merlin’s job, somehow it felt as though — at least for this moment — Arthur’s pleasure was the most important thing to Merlin, such was the care he took with every stroke of his tongue and sweep of his fingers. 

Merlin's mouth may not have been the very first to touch Arthur’s cock, but it may as well have been. The difference between those prior experiences and what Arthur felt with Merlin was vast, and maybe a little bit terrible. But this...this was _amazing_. It shouldn’t have been a surprise -- that lips, tongue and suction could feel this good only made sense -- but this was on another level entirely. Merlin opened his mouth; he parted those lush lips and closed them on the tip of Arthur’s cock, engulfing it in wet heat. A groan was wrenched from his throat as Merlin took him deeper, his head bobbing up and down, each time going a little further until the head of Arthur’s cock bumped the back of his throat. Merlin’s hand stroked up to meet his lips on their every downward slide, working Arthur’s full length in a steady, rhythmic motion that had Arthur struggling to keep his hips flat against the bed.

“It’s all right, Arthur...I can take it. Fuck my mouth.” Merlin looked up, eyes dark with lust and mouth puffy and slick. 

Arthur’s hips jerked, and he fucked up into Merlin’s mouth in short thrusts, heat building in his groin and radiating outward in waves of pleasure. He was riding the edge, and it would take only the slightest push to send him over...Merlin seemed to sense this, and he unwrapped his fingers from the base of Arthur’s cock, still urging Arthur to thrust up into his mouth. He swiped a finger through the saliva dripping down Arthur’s sac and probed gently between his cheeks, circling the tight furl of muscle and pushing his fingertip slowly inside.

Arthur gasped. It was the barest penetration...Merlin’s finger was not even in him up to the first knuckle but this, added to the slick slide of Merlin’s lips on his cock and the soft panting breaths that accompanied every upward thrust proved to be the push he needed, and then he was falling headlong into orgasm, hot pleasure igniting and boiling over, running through his body in a wave of liquid heat that left him breathless and hazy with a euphoria so keen it was almost sharp. 

When Arthur came back to himself, Merlin was lying alongside him, one arm crooked at the elbow and his head resting in one hand while the other was splayed on Arthur’s chest. Without thought, Arthur pulled his head down to kiss him, tasting his come in Merlin’s mouth. It was a lovers’ kiss -- long and slow, their tongues tangling softly, lips meeting and parting. Arthur nipped Merlin’s lower lip and he let out a tiny chuckle, his fingers ruffling and smoothing Arthur’s chest hair. It all felt so real that for a moment Arthur forgot he was with a prostitute, cupping Merlin’s jaw in his palm tenderly.

Merlin deepened the kiss, rolling closer to Arthur and tangling their legs, his hard cock like a brand against Arthur’s thigh. It was intoxicating, feeling Merlin’s body against his and breathing in his spicy-sweet scent. He knew that the pleasure was only beginning...that Merlin would be inside him soon. The thought filled him with excitement and not a little apprehension, and Merlin, perceptive as he was, lifted his head away from Arthur’s to meet his gaze with an intent look. 

“Surely that wasn’t _all_ you wanted from me tonight, was it Arthur?” Merlin asked, trailing his fingers along Arthur’s chest, his fingertips ruffling and smoothing his chest hair softly with each pass.

“Shouldn’t you know, _Merlin_?”

“I suppose I do,” Merlin replied, his plush lips curving in a slow smile, “but it’s always good to be sure.”

“Then you can be _sure_ ,” Arthur murmured, “that I want you to fuck me.”

“Well, as long as you’re _sure_ …” And it was clear he wasn’t second-guessing Arthur, not with the way his hands moved covetously down to Arthur’s parted thighs, his fingertips skimming the still-damp flesh. 

Merlin rolled away from Arthur and stood; he bent forward to reach into the bedside drawer to retrieve a new bottle of lube and a foil-wrapped condom. He grabbed a pillow with his free hand and settled down beside Arthur once more, placing the condom and pillow within easy reach and tearing the plastic off the lid of the lube bottle so that he could open it. He coated his fingers thoroughly and laid the bottle down, then moved over Arthur again, letting his palm brush against the inside of Arthur’s thigh before teasing his cleft with slick fingers.

Arthur tensed, then forced himself to relax as Merlin’s fingers moved slowly and carefully, drifting up to stroke almost to his sac and back down again to press softly against his hole, gently teasing the muscle with the pads of his fingers. Merlin’s body was irresistibly close, and Arthur couldn’t help but reach down to touch Merlin’s cock as he worked, feather-light caresses that elicited a soft hitch in Merlin’s breath as he stroked the silken skin with tentative fingers. Merlin hummed his approval and arched into Arthur’s touch ever so slightly, never stopping the slow movement of his own fingers against Arthur’s hole.

It was clear that Merlin knew _exactly_ what he was doing, because when his finger breached Arthur it didn’t feel nearly as foreign as Arthur had expected based on his -- admittedly limited -- past experience. The feeling of Merlin’s cock sliding through his fingers was really a very good distraction, Arthur thought, and he halted just long enough to lick his palm thoroughly before resuming the slow, tight-fisted pulls. 

“Careful, Arthur,” Merlin said into his ear, and the combination of his warm breath and the soft brush of his lips against the shell of Arthur’s ear sent an involuntary shiver through his body. “As good as it would feel to come in your hand, I’d much rather come while I’m inside you.” Arthur felt Merlin twist his finger inside him as he spoke, and that sensation, coupled with Merlin’s heated words had his cock twitching with interest despite his recent orgasm. 

“Assuming that’s what you want, of course…” Merlin added, with the barest hint of a teasing lilt to his voice.

“You know it is, you bloody tease.” Arthur loosened his grip on Merlin’s cock, stroking lazily, more intent on driving him slightly mad than bringing him off. 

Arthur’s hand slowed further as the smooth glide of Merlin’s finger in and out became more comfortable, more familiar. Merlin withdrew for a moment, and then Arthur felt two fingers pressing gently into him. Merlin watched his face carefully, gauging his reaction, and Arthur found himself relaxing. He had made the decision to trust Merlin, and everything he had done so far had been right...perfect actually. The feeling of being stretched was more intense now, but Merlin moved slowly, working his crossed index and middle fingers in and out of Arthur until the muscles relaxed around them. Merlin continued this for some time, and Arthur let his hand fall away from Merlin’s cock, concentrating on the heat and sensitivity that seemed to radiate out from his groin as Merlin crooked his fingers, lightly stroking his inner walls in a particular way that was really sort of incredible.

A hot surge of pleasure jolted him from the nearly dream-like state induced by Merlin’s talented fingers, and Arthur’s hips bucked as he let out a long, low groan that seemed to emerge from the depths of his chest beyond control or modulation. Merlin stroked that sensitive spot over and over again, overloading Arthur with pure, sweet euphoria. Arthur was lost, floating on a sea of rapture. He almost didn’t notice at first when Merlin added a third finger, the stretching sensation no match for the way Merlin stroked his prostate with every clever twist of his fingers. He felt the loss when Merlin pulled away again, and settled beside him after wiping his fingers clean. He had the pillow in one hand, and he tapped Arthur’s hip as he spoke. 

“It’s up to you, of course, but I think you’ll be more comfortable if you turn over.”

“More comfortable…” Arthur murmured, “oh, yes, I see…”

“Unless,” Merlin paused, “you aren’t quite ready? There’s no rush.”

“No, I am. I guess I just imagined it differently…” Part of Arthur hated sounding so vulnerable, but there was no reason to be shy around Merlin, he reasoned. “But you...I trust you.”

Merlin’s face softened, and Arthur felt that warm fluttering in his chest again, the one that tried to convince him that there _was_ more to this than business...the one that he really ought to ignore.  
“Thank you for that,” Merlin said, leaning over to brush his lips against Arthur’s softly. “I want to make this good for you.”

Arthur only nodded, and rolled over slowly, allowing Merlin to push the pillow under his hips before he settled. He felt more exposed now than he had on his back with his legs splayed and Merlin between them, but after the sound of a tearing wrapper and the slosh of liquid, Merlin’s hands were warm upon him once more, sweeping soothingly down his back to his hips, cupping his cheeks and kneading them softly and all he felt was anticipation. He felt slick fingers at his hole again, testing his readiness, and then something thicker pressing in slowly. The stretch-burn was more pronounced than it had been when Merlin was fingering him, but Merlin’s hands were a firm, reassuring pressure on his hips and his voice was rolling over Arthur, the soft cadence of murmured words comforting in a way Arthur hadn’t expected. 

It didn’t hurt -- not precisely; Merlin’s preparation had been too thorough and careful for that -- but when Merlin finally bottomed out it was strange, this feeling of fullness.

“All right, Arthur?”

Merlin’s voice was deep, and Arthur could feel the tension in his body where they were joined, and at every point of contact between them. Merlin was holding perfectly still, waiting for Arthur. 

Arthur crooked one arm in front of his head, resting his cheek against the clean, smooth sheet. He knew Merlin wouldn’t move until he gave the word. The nascent erection that he’d felt before had not withstood the slow, strange pressure of penetration, but as he listened to Merlin’s even breaths and felt his taut thighs against his own, he realized that he was all right. More than that, he was bloody _fantastic_. 

“Hmm, yes…” he hummed his assent, barely raising his head from the bed as he spoke.

Arthur felt Merlin gradually withdraw before leaning forward, pushing smoothly back into Arthur once more. He braced an arm on the bed beside Arthur’s head and wrapped his other hand around Arthur’s hip. Merlin’s lips brushed the nape of his neck, and he stayed close like that, curling over Arthur’s back as he slowly rocked in and out. Arthur curved his fingers around Merlin’s right wrist, arching to meet his thrusts as they moved in a slow, perfect rhythm that sent swelling waves of pleasure, hot and honey-sweet, through Arthur’s body as his cock began to harden against the pillow. 

“So gorgeous, Arthur…” Merlin murmured into his ear, his midnight voice curling around him like an embrace.

Arthur felt surrounded by Merlin, his heat at his back, his breath on his nape, his voice in his ear, and his cock, sliding in and out at a measured pace that was slowly driving Arthur to distraction. He pushed back against Merlin, breaking their rhythm, trying to drive him to go faster, push deeper. 

“ _Merlin_. I won’t break.” He muttered.

Merlin only chuckled softly, but he did speed up, snapping his hips and deepening the angle of his penetration until Arthur let out a sharp gasp.

“Have you ever come like this, Arthur? With your cock untouched?”

When Merlin had fingered him earlier, stroking over his sweet spot as he opened Arthur up, it had felt good. Better than good. But that was nothing compared to this, with the way Merlin’s thick length was hitting that spot just right, and the intensity of what he was feeling ratcheted up with every perfect thrust. Arthur had read that it was possible to come from prostate stimulation alone, but his own forays into self-exploration (few as they had been) had led him to conclude it wasn’t possible, at least not for him.

However, Merlin might just make him a believer. 

Heat was welling up inside him, radiating outward. He was sensitized, as though he could feel every single hair follicle, every skin cell touching the individual fibres of the sheet. A droplet of sweat rolled down from his temple, tickling as it went. He was aware of the hair at Merlin’s groin brushing his arse every time Merlin sank into him, the grip of Merlin’s fingers on his hip, the feel of Merlin’s fine-boned wrist beneath the fingers of his hand. It was building, this hot tension, and Arthur felt as though he might explode at any moment, that he had to explode, if only to find relief from the sweet, slow burn that was consuming him from the inside out.

When his orgasm hit, it _hit_. He bucked his hips, wave after wave of the most intense pleasure he’d ever felt rolling over him, drowning him in ecstasy. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Through the haze of pleasure, Arthur was dimly aware of Merlin’s low groan of satisfaction, punctuated by soft panting breaths and the stuttering of his hips as he climaxed. 

Merlin pulled out carefully, disposing of the condom in the conveniently located wastebin with unerring aim. He settled beside Arthur again, comfortingly close without touching, as if he sensed just how overstimulated and wrung out Arthur felt at this moment. Arthur concentrated on his breathing, and he wondered if this was what it would always be like with Merlin...and then he stopped himself, because this was the only time he would be with Merlin...wasn’t it? He shook his head almost imperceptibly, but Merlin, who had been so attuned to him from the start didn’t miss it, just as he hadn’t missed any of Arthur’s other cues.

“Is it all right if I touch you now?” Merlin asked softly. 

Arthur couldn’t summon the energy to say anything but “mmhmm” as he let his head fall forward, his forehead pressing against the soothingly cool sheet. A warm hand brushed his shoulder gently, sliding down to caress his back. 

“Is it always that...intense? I didn’t expect...didn’t know what to expect, really. I didn’t think it was possible?”

Merlin pressed a kiss to his shoulder. 

“At the risk of sounding like a bit of a show-off, I suppose I have something of a talent for it.”

“I guess that’s...a good thing in your line of work. I mean…” Arthur trailed off, wondering if it was gauche to essentially call Merlin a prostitute to his face. Or to his arm, which was all Arthur could see from this angle.

“Yes, I know what my line of work is,” Merlin said, sounding amused. “It doesn’t bother me to talk about it. Does it bother you?”

 _It does, but not for the reason you might think_. Arthur thought. It only bothered him because even if he paid for Merlin’s company again, that was all he could ever do, pay for his time. He sighed. “It doesn’t bother me,” Arthur said, and he knew he was lying. He only hoped that Merlin didn’t pick up on it. “It makes sense that you would develop that skill, then?”

“Arthur, I’ll tell you a secret.” Merlin said conspiratorially. “I had that skill _before_ I started doing this. Why do you think I do what I do?”

“I suppose I didn’t consider it overmuch...but you hear things? People with no alternatives…” Arthur was suddenly glad Merlin couldn’t see his face. What had possessed him to be so...vulnerable? This wasn’t like him at all, was it?

Merlin laughed then, not unkindly, but in such a warm, genuine way that Arthur had to look up to see his smiling face, his eyes crinkled at the corners. It was such an open expression, so similar to the one he’d been wearing in the photo that had made Arthur choose him, that Arthur knew in that moment he’d gone and done something monumentally stupid. He’d developed feelings for Merlin like some kind of lovesick schoolboy. Sometimes life was so absurd that all one could do was laugh, and Arthur gave in, letting his mirth rumble up from his chest into a full-throated guffaw of the sort he almost never indulged in anymore. If anything, this made Merlin’s smile wider, and he leaned closer to Arthur draping an arm over his back. 

“The starving artist moniker is a true one...at least sometimes, and it’s also true that I didn’t want that to be me, but...I have a master’s degree; I could find other work if I wanted. Just not work that would allow me to spend most of my days painting.”

“You must really love it, then...painting?”

Merlin smiled with a faraway look in his eyes. “I really do.”

In that moment, more than anything Arthur wanted to _know_ Merlin. He wanted to know where his thoughts went when he expressed his love of painting, and more. He wasn’t sure what to say...he knew what he _wanted_ to say -- he wanted to ask Merlin about his painting, wanted to ask him anything Merlin would let him, really...but he couldn’t. In the end, all he could say was, “That’s good.”

“Let me get you something to clean up with before you get uncomfortable,” Merlin said, rolling off the bed in one easy motion as he spoke. The sound of water running drifted out from the attached ensuite, and then Merlin was back with a soft cloth, considerately dampened with hot water. As Arthur attended to practical matters, he fought to keep a blush from staining his cheeks -- although being embarrassed to clean himself up in front of Merlin since he’d helped create the mess didn’t make much sense. Meanwhile, Merlin straightened the bed, plucking up the come-soaked pillow that had been under Arthur’s hips and tossing it to the side without comment before disappearing into the loo to brush his teeth. 

Merlin emerged again after a moment, obviously not at all self-conscious about his nudity and headed for the left side of the bed, clearly intent on lying down. 

Arthur spoke before he could stop himself. 

“I always sleep on the left.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow and moved to the right side wordlessly, holding the sheet back for Arthur. The thought of leaving crossed his mind, but Arthur knew he just couldn’t, not yet. He slipped under the sheet, hesitating briefly before reaching for Merlin, who just smiled and said, “Take what you want, Arthur.”

What he wanted was Merlin’s skin against his, to inhale his spicy-sweet scent and forget for a little longer that this was one night of pleasure, bought and paid for. He gave in and nestled close to Merlin, who obligingly curled up with him, one arm draped over Arthur’s waist. Merlin had dimmed the lamps at some point while Arthur hadn’t been paying attention, and the room was quiet and still, the silence broken only by the muted hum of the heating. Arthur nosed into Merlin’s neck, breathing him in and brushing his lips over his steady, even pulse. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then closed his eyes briefly before reopening them and finally saying what had been in the back of his mind since it had become apparent that Merlin could tell how badly he had needed this. 

“How did you know?”

Merlin didn’t pretend not to take his meaning, and the half-serious, half-amused light in his eyes seemed somehow appropriate. “Arthur, you must know how tightly-wound you are… _were_. It was apparent from the moment you arrived. Before, even.”

“Before?”

“Hm, yes,” Merlin answered, running his palm absently down Arthur’s flank, his hand warm and soothing. “You know I have right of refusal on bookings, yeah? I know everything that’s happened since the first time you called Gwaine. Well, the first time “David Somerset” called Gwaine.”

Embarrassment flooded Arthur. He had not been exactly _cooperative_ then, had he?

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” Merlin’s fingers brushed his jaw, lifting it so he could meet Arthur’s eyes. “I’m sure you had reason to react as you did; admittedly we probably do things a little bit differently than you expected. It’s perfectly understandable that you were a bit of a…prat.” This last was uttered quietly, and oh, Merlin’s grin was positively _wicked_.

“A prat? Seriously, Merlin?” Arthur felt torn between exasperation and amusement.

“Well, you were! Wanting to pay extra to avoid the health screening, _honestly_.” His eyes sparkled with mirth, and his expression seemed so open, so different from the smooth, practiced mask of before. Arthur was helpless before it, and any indignation he’d harbored melted away. He felt a grin split his own face, and he succumbed to laughter. “All right, I’ll agree that was rather…not the thing.”

“Just a little,” Merlin agreed, yawning softly. He shifted ever so slightly, and Arthur’s arms tightened reflexively, pulling Merlin even closer. The room was silent and still, and Arthur could feel himself relaxing, drifting nearer to sleep with every breath.

“It was, you know.” Arthur said quietly.

“It was what?” Merlin asked, matching Arthur’s tone. 

“A good...first experience.”

Merlin pulled back to meet Arthur’s gaze, studying him intently. Up close, Arthur could see the hint of grey mixed with the blue in his eyes, his sooty eyelashes, the barest shadow on his jaw. 

“Would you think it odd if I said that I’m glad it was me? That I could do that for you?” 

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Good.” Merlin’s lips curved in a smile, and it was impossible for Arthur to resist kissing him. It felt different this time, more intimate, somehow, as if they were kissing for the simple enjoyment of it, and not as a prelude to something else. The last thing Arthur felt before falling asleep was the sensation of Merlin’s lips moving softly against his own.

***

Arthur woke to the sound of an incoming text message, blinking drowsily. He wasn’t sure how long they’d been asleep, but they’d shifted position at some point and he was lying on his side with Merlin’s chest pressed to his back. His cock was hard, bumping up against Arthur’s arsecheek as Merlin stirred in his sleep. Arthur reached back, insinuating his hand between their bodies and brushing his knuckles against Merlin’s cock as he did so.

“Mmm, don’t tempt me,” Merlin muttered into Arthur’s hair. His actions belied his words as his hips moved, pressing his cock against Arthur’s backside a little more firmly.

“It’s not temptation if you give in, is it?” 

“Pretty sure it still is,” Merlin said through a yawn. His fingers rested on Arthur’s hip gently, his thumb kneading circles in his cheek. “How’re you feeling? Are you sore?”

“Why don’t we find out?” Arthur asked, pushing back against Merlin.

“I can resist everything but temptation.” 

“Quoting Wilde? A bit cliché, that?”

“Perhaps a bit,” Merlin said agreeably, sliding his hand down and slipping his thumb between Arthur’s cheeks, probing gently at his rim. “How does that feel?”

“A little tender,” Arthur admitted, “but not so much that I don’t want you again.”

“If it hurts at all...even a little...you’ll tell me right away?”

“Yes, _Merlin_. Now would you kindly fuck me again?”

“I get you to let go a bit and you become such a pushy thing, don’t you?” Merlin said, chuckling softly. 

Arthur felt a chill against his back as Merlin rolled away; heard the sound of a foil packet tearing and the wet sound of lube, and then Merlin was back, slick fingers teasing his hole. 

“Don’t tease, _Merlin_.”

“Yes, yes, all right…” And Arthur swore he could hear the smile in Merlin’s voice. 

The fingers withdrew, and Merlin’s cock was pressing in slowly. Arthur was accustomed to the feeling now -- _wasn’t that a novel thought_ \-- and while he was just a bit sore, he was so relaxed-drowsy from the warmth and scent of Merlin wrapped around him that the slow rocking thrusts were exactly what he wanted. Slick fingers wrapped around Arthur’s cock, pulling slowly in time with the movement of Merlin’s hips, and Merlin’s soft breaths were ruffling the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. It was slow and languorous, and when he came it built up slowly and then tipped him over into bliss almost before he knew it was happening.

Afterwards, when Merlin had gotten up to dispose of the condom, then returned with a clean, wet cloth and curled his long body around Arthur’s again, Arthur knew that the time display on his phone was signaling the end of his idyll. One-thirty in the morning...it was hours past when he thought he would be gone from this place.

“I don’t want to leave,” Arthur admitted quietly, his words muffled against Merlin’s neck. 

“Then don’t,” Merlin said, his lips brushing against Arthur’s temple as he spoke. “We have time.”

“I have to,” Arthur said with a sigh. “I’ve already stayed later than I probably should have.” 

He rolled away reluctantly, and now that the afterglow was seeping away in the face of practical considerations, he felt a twinge in his muscles and knew that he would still be feeling Merlin tomorrow. All things considered, he couldn’t find it in him to regret that. 

Arthur considered showering, but the only person to see him would be Leon. And while he might not know the identity -- or sex -- of the person Arthur had been “visiting”, the duration of his time inside was such that there was no way Leon would be surprised to see Arthur looking disheveled in a “walk of shame” sort of way. 

Merlin reclined on the bed, sprawled out with the sheet pulled up to his hips, leaving his chest bare. His hair was sleep-mussed and he watched Arthur dress with the look of a man who wanted to say something but wasn’t quite sure what it was. 

The temptation to shuck off the clothes he’d just started straightening and climb back into bed with Merlin was overwhelming. He didn’t have to be out until seven in the morning, and the thought of spending the rest of the night curled up with Merlin was incredibly appealing. So much so that he came close...so much closer than he liked to admit...to throwing caution to the wind and texting Leon to go home before doing just that.

But the risk was just too great. Arthur knew that. He had been foolhardy enough doing this at all, and then staying as late as he had...it was time to go. 

Arthur ducked into the ensuite to wet his hands and run them through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it into some semblance of order, and quickly gave up, coming around to the side of the bed. 

He stood awkwardly for a moment, wanting to kiss Merlin goodbye, but...now that he was dressed again and leaving, the easiness of before seemed to have left him. At least payment had been handled in advance...he knew that despite his protestations to the contrary, he hadn’t been treating it like business since shortly after he arrived, and the thought of going back to that in such a concrete way as handing Merlin a stack of notes was almost painful. 

For his part, Merlin gazed up at him with an inscrutable look, opening and closing his mouth once, briefly, as if he were about to say something but had thought better of it. In the end, Arthur leaned down to brush his lips over Merlin’s and felt warm hands cupping his neck, holding him in place while Merlin kissed him deeply and sweetly. 

He turned to leave, not daring to look back, knowing what his face would betray if he did. As he walked resolutely toward the door, Merlin’s voice could be heard behind him. 

“It’s an old family name, Arthur.”

***

Arthur texted Leon from the elevator. He responded promptly, and Arthur emerged from the building his car was idling in front of the entrance. Leon looked tired, and Arthur felt a brief pang of guilt for keeping him sitting in the car as long as he had. Leon would never say anything, but Arthur met his eyes in the rearview mirror, and whatever Leon saw there seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders. He nodded ever so slightly, and Arthur knew that was the only acknowledgement Leon would ever give this situation.

As the car drove away into the night Arthur relaxed against the seat, sinking into the butter-soft leather. He leaned his head back against the headrest, closing his eyes against the glare from the passing streetlights. It was almost as if he could still feel the ghost of Merlin’s touch on his body...but it was Merlin’s parting words that truly continued to haunt him, echoing inside his head, their meaning teasing at the edges of his consciousness. 

“An old family name?” Arthur muttered under his breath. It was the only personal information Merlin had shared the entire evening...if you didn’t count their brief discussion about Merlin’s painting, and Arthur didn’t. He wondered at the significance of Merlin sharing that _particular_ bit of personal information. 

Groaning faintly, Arthur let the puzzle slide away for the moment. Tomorrow he would go back to his normal routine, but tonight he wanted to have Merlin just a little longer. He sighed deeply, thoughts of Merlin’s warmth, his drugging kisses, the heat of his skin, his slim, talented fingers all combining into a comforting melange that lulled him into a pleasant doze from which he trusted Leon to wake him.

His last conscious thought was of Merlin holding him close...Merlin’s deep even breathing as he slept, and the heat of his body against Arthur’s back.

For the first time in longer than Arthur cared to remember, he was content.

 

**Epilogue**

_Four years, and several months later…_

By necessity, Arthur had become quite proficient at tying his own bow-ties over the course of a lifetime spent attending one black tie event after another. But now as he tugged on the cloth now he found his fingers uncooperative, unused to the task. 

“Merlin?” He called out, his voice echoing through the flat. 

“In the studio, Arthur.”

“Please tell me you haven’t gotten paint on your tuxedo, Merlin…” Arthur muttered under his breath as he walked down the hall from the master suite to the bedroom they’d converted to a studio when they’d bought this flat the previous year. It was the smallest bedroom, and at first Arthur had protested -- not because he didn’t want Merlin to have a studio -- but surely he needed more space? Merlin had only smiled and said the light was right in there and that he loved it. And that was all Arthur had needed to hear.

Merlin stood in the middle of the small room now, his tuxedo thankfully paint free and immaculate, one hand extended toward the half-finished canvas he’d spent most of the day working on. He was studying it intently, the light from the setting sun pouring through the windows outlining his lean, gorgeous body in molten gold. A platinum band on the third finger of his left hand gleamed in the dying light, and Arthur felt a fierce happiness thrumming in his chest. Would he never tire of the knowledge that happiness was now his? And not just personal happiness, but also professional success? (He’d recently been re-elected MP for Battersea. It turned out that his constituents didn’t really care who he went home to at night so long as he represented them well, and the Labour party had been only too happy to have him when the old guard Conservatives closed ranks against him.)

He’d thought his political career over when he’d made the decision to end the secrecy and love Merlin openly, but it would have been worth any price to him to have what they had. It hadn’t been easy, but as Arthur drank in the sight of Merlin, lost in his creative process, he knew he would do it all over again. 

“Arthur, how long have you been standing there?” Merlin had stepped away from the painting and was looking at him curiously, and while Arthur had been known to show Merlin a side of himself no one ever saw, there was no need to get caught making cow eyes now.

“Just making sure you haven’t gotten paint on your tux, love.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You’d think I’d never been to one of these posh events with you before, Arthur. All the society matrons would be beside themselves if Arthur Pendragon’s husband showed up with a bit of paint on his sleeve, really?”

“It could happen,” Arthur said with a grin. “Now would you please,” and he pointed to the undone bow-tie, “take care of this for me?”

“Spoiled prat,” Merlin said affectionately. “I’ve been tying these for you for so long now that you’ve forgotten how, is that the way of it? Or maybe…” He trailed off with a wicked grin, “you’re just looking for an excuse to get me close to you?”

“I hardly need an excuse for that, _Merlin_.” Arthur drawled, running a hand down Merlin’s arm and leaning into his neck, brushing his lips against the smooth, warm skin.

Merlin’s closeness was as intoxicating now as it had been that first night, the night that had been so pivotal in Arthur’s life -- even if he hadn’t known it at the time. For weeks afterward, he’d...well...there wasn’t any other word for it, he’d _pined_ for Merlin. He wanted to see him again, but he knew he couldn’t book another night with him, couldn’t see him that way. In fact, he’d shredded Gwaine’s card and deleted all traces of the transaction to avoid the temptation to do so. He might’ve gone on like that for some time, maybe even gone through the sham of a marriage to Elena, except that one day an invitation had arrived in the mail to an art showing by a painter named Merlin Emrys.

After a moment of panic as to how Merlin had divined who he was and where he lived, he’d been flooded with relief at the opportunity to see Merlin again, obviously in an entirely different context. 

He’d gone to that art showing, and then coffee afterwards, and then to Merlin’s cozy little flat in Ealing. And somehow they’d never parted again, not for long, not even while Merlin ended his arrangement with Gwaine -- which had been both easier and more difficult than either of them had anticipated -- not even when Arthur had finally come out to his father and it had gone even worse than he had ever imagined -- not even when Arthur had been cut off from the entire Pendragon family and threatened with loss of his career and everything else he’d always thought so important (but really wasn’t important at all, if he couldn’t have Merlin by his side.)

Merlin stepped back, inspecting his work with a practiced eye, and brushed a hand over Arthur’s lapel. 

“You’ll do,” he said, eyes crinkled up with a smile, and oh, Arthur loved Merlin’s smile. 

Arthur stepped close to Merlin again, sliding his arms around his waist and tugging him close, still thrilled after all this time by the sense of rightness he felt when Merlin’s body was close to his. He brushed his lips over Merlin’s jaw, tightening his hold and bringing Merlin even closer. Merlin’s lips were soft and pliant against his, and as Arthur licked into Merlin’s mouth, his heart felt full to bursting with joy.


End file.
